


there is simply nothing worse than knowing how it ends

by queerbashir



Series: another x on the calendar [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Angst, Companions, Companions Questline (Elder Scrolls), Friendship, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, Minor Character Death, Queer Character, Queer Dragonborn, Queer Skyrim, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, kinda slowburn?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-16 12:22:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28706601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queerbashir/pseuds/queerbashir
Summary: His best friend is dead, he's a shit adventurer, and he's alone in Skyrim. Watch Gilmoren try to regain control of his lifetags and rating will change
Relationships: Male Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Farkas
Series: another x on the calendar [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2104293
Comments: 7
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> oh hey there. this will make most sense if you start with the first fic of this series.

The day he got back, Gilmoren bought the house he had told her about. Proventus said something very nice while he was filling out the paperwork. He hoped that he had said something nice in return, but he couldn’t really remember. 

It was called Breezehome. Apparently in Skyrim you name your house. It was a strange custom, and Gilmoren decided to just keep the existing name for simplicity’s sake. It had apparently been empty for a while. The previous family had moved to another hold, and no one wanted a house just up the street from a tavern. Gilmoren didn’t mind though. Drunk people weren’t high in his list of complaints. That was still true. 

His family had always been on the move. As disciples of Y’ffre, they had travelled constantly. They wore flowers in their hair and travelled from town to town, spreading the word and reminding people of The Green Pact. When he was a child it felt like an adventure. But as he got older, he started to notice the way people didn’t like to open their doors, and how whenever they did, they always reacted with annoyance and disgust. He started to keep his ears open, and eventually learned that everyone else thought the disciples were batshit crazy. He saw the way other families built a home in one place, and how even when things got hard, they stuck it out. They didn’t leave as soon as they had an argument with a neighbor like his parents did. He started to dream about what it would be like to have somewhere to return after a long journey. Somewhere to actually rest. When he finally decided to break off from the group, his parents were thrilled. He let them believe he was going to Skyrim to spread the word. They wouldn’t have liked Breezehome. 

The house was incredibly dusty. It had some bare furniture left over from the previous family. It took him all day to clean it to the point where he could stay inside without nearly sneezing his nose off. The furniture he had ordered wouldn’t be there until the next day, but Gilly didn’t think much about another night sleeping on the ground. He hadn’t planned on affording furniture anyway. Dragon bone fetched a high price however, and the Jarl had covered the funeral costs, so he didn’t have anywhere else to spend it. Most of her gear had gone elsewhere, but Gilly had kept one of her swords. It seemed appropriate. He didn’t even have a bed yet, but he stopped by the forge before it closed for the night and picked up a stand. He set it up next to the door, and placed her sword on it. He would have hung his up as well, but the mount was far too big for the handle. He leaned it against the wall instead. 

Some nice people from Proventus’ office delivered the furniture the next day. He didn’t have the gold for a set of blankets, so he laid his sleeping roll down on the bed instead. He chopped some wood for the fire, and arranged in a neat pile. He cleaned again. This was what he wanted. The whole reason he left his family. Yes he wanted to travel and learn, but he wanted a home to return to. After a lifetime as a nomad, he wanted to plant his roots somewhere. But it wasn't as satisfying as he had hoped. 

A letter arrived from Delphine. He felt too guilty not to read it, but after that it laid unanswered on the table. It ended up being covered with potion ingredients as he tried and failed to sort them neatly. He abandoned them strewn across the table, and overnight they dried out all wrong. 

He bought a few books from the Brenton who's name he had never learned. He tried to sit by the fire and read, but the words crawled around the page like ants. 


	2. Chapter 2

Gilmoren couldn’t keep spending all day sweeping the floor over and over again. His gold was running low. He still hadn’t assembled any of the furniture he had bought. It should be simple enough, but he couldn't summon the energy, and the idea of arranging it in a pleasing way was daunting. He had never decorated a house before. He ate once a day at the inn down the road, not talking to anyone. 

This wasn’t why he came to Skyrim. He had finished one of his goals, buying a home, but nothing felt right. He felt no satisfaction, and had no idea what to do next. He was just sort of...there. 

Letters from Delphine kept arriving. He read every single one. He wasn’t entirely sure how she had his address to write him. But he never replied. She’d just have to find someone else. He didn't know this woman, didn't trust her. He didn't understand her politics or her apparent life long obsession with dragons, but he knew one thing: she considered him too stupid to understand her plans, but was more than happy to let him and his friends die for her vendetta. Gilmoren didn't want to be used by someone like that. 

The horn was put away in a chest. The Greybeards probably assumed he never left Ustengrav alive. Thinking about returning to them set his stomach in knots: how could he show his face to these men who had been studying the Voice for decades, and tell them...what happened? They'd be so disappointed. Or they'd be horrified. Either way, they would probably send him away. He couldn't bear the thought, so the horn stayed tucked away. 

Lydia had said once that she had thought about joining the Companions, before she became a housecarl first. She grew up hearing stories about the Companions: a group of brave people who helped others using their physical might. She ended up becoming a housecarl instead because it paid much better, and she could send money back to her mother. Gilmoren wasn’t sure how brave he was, and he wasn’t very mighty either. But he had to do something. 

And he liked the idea of helping people.

So that morning he ignored the anxiety brewing in his belly and walked to Jorrvaskr. He wasn’t sure of the protocol, so he sort of wandered around nearby until he saw someone he recognized. He jogged up to them, a lean muscular person with long red hair and dark war paint on their face. 

"Hi, um, Aela, is it? I'm sorry to bother you, I wanted to talk to someone about joining the Companions." he said. She looked him over. 

“You are Lydia's Thane. She spoke highly of you, may she rest with her ancestors." she noted. He twitched. Her tone was serious but the words sounded rehearsed, as if she was well accustomed to honoring the dead. Gilmoren wondered how it became so...easy. 

"Uh, yes that's me. I was wondering if you had any...um...openings?" Aela smirked, not meanly, but at him. 

“The Companions are always open to new Shield Siblings. But we don’t just take every milkdrinker who shows up. Come on, you’ll want to talk to Kodlak.” she beckoned him to follow. Bristling only a little at the “milkdrinker” comment, he decided to pick his battles and follow her inside. 

The hall was warm and inviting, for a room filled with weapons and large people wielding them. The walls were a deep red, and a large fire burned brightly. A long table was filled with half filled containers of food. An older person was sweeping. They seemed unbothered by the sound of swords clanging together as Companions sparred. 

“See those stairs? Go down them, and then down the hall. Kodlak is the only old man here, you can’t miss him.” Aela waved him off, taking a seat at the long table. Gilly was startled at being abandoned, but tried not to look like a kicked puppy. He followed Aela’s instructions, hoping he was imagining all the eyes on him. Thankfully she was right, and one older man stuck out from the rest. 

“Hi, Mr. Kodlak?”

The old man looked up, startled, from his book. He gave Gilmoren a once over, and then a small smile. 

“I can’t remember the last time I was called mister. I think I like it. How can I help you, stranger?” he asked. 

“Hi, my name is Gilmoren -”

“Ah! You’re the new Thane! I thought I recognized you.” Kodlak interrupted him in the way that old people were apt to do, “You’re the one who recently returned from dealing with the dragon business. I was sorry to hear about your housecarl. May her soul rest in Sovengarde.”

Gilmoren twitched.

“Um, thank you. Well yes, I recently returned, and I’m interested in joining the Companions. Lydia spoke very highly of you.” Her name caught in his throat, but he felt like she would have liked this, so he tried to swallow it down. Behind him, someone scoffed. Gilmoren flinched slightly and looked over his shoulder. One of the burly men that seemed to grow on trees in Skyrim was standing nearby. He was wearing bulky armor, and his dark hair was chopped around his eyes. 

“Kodlak, you’re not taking this welp seriously, are you? No disrespect, my Thane, but this is a place for warriors. I’ve got axes taller than you. ”. The man said. Kodlak tutted. 

“Vilkas, you know better than to judge someone based on their size. If I remember correctly, you once had your aas handed to you by a dark elf half this one’s size. Now isn’t that right?” he chided. Vilkas lowered his eyes. “Take Gilmoren out back and see what he has to offer. Go on now, don’t look at me like that.” Vilkas rolled his eyes and turned. 

“Come on, welp. Let’s see if you can stay on your feet.” 

Gilmoren, who had gone nose to nose with a dragon, did not like the look of this bear like man. At least dragons didn’t make fun of his height. But he followed Vilkas anyway, and hoped he would choose one of his shorter axes. When they arrived in the yard, Vilkas actually chose a sword. He swung it comfortably a few times, then turned. 

“Alright. Let’s see what youve got.”

Vilkas lunged before Gilmoren had thought to pull his blade. He jumped back and fell, landing on his ass. Before Vilkas brought his sword down, Gilmoren rolled hard to the side, and kicked at Vilkas’ ankle. In the time it took for Vilkas to stumble and regain his balance, Gilmoren shuffled back onto his feet and pulled his sword. Their swords met in the air, once, twice, three times. Vilkas was crowding him, giving him no room to escape, so he was forced to keep up with the larger man’s arms. He was just starting to get concerned when Vilkas gave him a strong shove and laughed. 

“Not bad, whelp. Put it away. I’ve seen much worse. Now, let’s see if you can follow orders. Take my sword up to Eorlund to have it sharpened.” He held the sword out and pointed with the other hand. Not sure what to say, Gilmoren just took the sword and followed the direction Vilkas pointed. Logically, he knew he was in no danger. That had just been training. But his throat was tight with anxiety. 

A flight of stone stairs led him to a massive forge, manned by a person with long grey hair that was probably a fire hazard. A very nice fire hazard. 

“Uh, pardon? Vilkas asked me to bring this to you.” he awkwardly held out the sword. 

The person turned and held out a hand for the sword. “You must be the newcomer, then. I am Eorlund.”

“Do newcomers always run errands?” Gilmoren said, then realized it sounded incredibly rude. The man laughed. 

“Don’t take it too hard, they were all whelps once. Though they like to pretend they weren’t.” he reassured the elf. “Don’t let them boss you around too much.”

“ ‘They’? Aren’t you a Companion?” Gilmoren asked. Eorlund turned away to set the sword down, giving Gilmoren a chance to give him a once over. 

“Oh no, not me. None of them are any good with a forge, and I am honoured to serve the Companions.” He turned back, holding a shield now. “Newcomer, would you mind doing me a favor?”

“Didn’t you just tell me not to let people boss me around?” Gilmoren laughed. Eorlund did not. “Sorry, I only meant - sorry. What can I do?”

“I’ve finished this shield for Aela. My wife is in mourning -” (Ah, I fucked up Gilmoren thought to himself) “and I need to get back to her. Can you bring this to Aela? She’s the one with the long red hair.”

Gilmoren, not trusting his mouth at this point, took the shield and left. 

I’ve already pissed off two of them, maybe I should just go home. 

But Gilmoren wasn’t entirely sure where home was. So he pushed open the doors to Jorrvaskr and started looking for Aela. 

\--

That day of running errands was the most social Gilmoren had been in weeks. He was tired, but this tired was better than how he had been feeling, so he didn’t mind. He ended the day with a man named Skjor, who had him scampering after arrows that missed their mark. Most of them seemed to miss. When Aela joined them, he was placing the arrows back in their quivers. 

“I heard you gave Vilkas a good thrashing today.” she said. 

“If that means he didn’t kill me, then I suppose.” he shrugged. Aela laughed. 

“Speaking of Vilkas, Farkas is over there, he can show you where you can lay your head. Farkas!” she called. Gilmoren placed the quivers back where they belonged, and when he turned back around he bumped directly into someone’s chest. That someone didn’t even seem to notice. Gilmoren looked up, and vaguely recognized him as a man Lydia had spoken to once. He looked exactly the same as he had that day, big with warpaint smudged around his blue eyes. 

“Did you call me?” the someone asked, their voice rumbling deep in their chest. 

“Yes, icebrain.” Aela laughed, looking at Gilmoren. “Take the new whelp to where he will be staying.” The someone - Farkas - nodded and started walking away. Gilmoren scampered to catch up. 

“Skjor and Aela like to tease me, but they’re good people.” Farkas said, not seeming to notice that Gilmoren was jogging to keep up with him. “You’ll be staying in the room with me. I snore. Sorry about it.” They reached a side room in the long hallway, and Farkas pushed the door open. It was a cozy room, with two beds, and two small night tables between them. 

“Oh, um, actually I -“ Gilmoren started, and Farkas turned to look down at him. He was a giant, but for an armor clad giant he had an incredibly kind face. Facing each other, Gilmoren’s face was level with his chest plate. He had to crane his neck to look Farkas in the eye. Farkas smiled, and the way his smile reached his eyes made Gilmoren stutter. Farkas watched patiently as Gilmoren tried to remember how to speak. 

“That’s -” he started to choke out finally, and then he immediately sneezed. 

He sneezed all over Farkas’ armor. 

Farkas laughed, a deep laugh that started below where Gilmoren’s snot was currently splattered. 

“Oh - oh holy - I’m so sorry let me -” he scrambled around his pockets for a handkerchief. Farkas shrugged. 

“There’s been a lot worse on this armor. Don’t worry about it, whelp.” Farkas walked into the room and hung his sword on the stand next to one of the beds. “Make yourself at home. I need to go talk to my brother.”

“Gilmoren.”

“No, Vilkas. Who’s Gilmoren?”

They stared at each other for a moment. Gilmoren opened his mouth, and shut it again, before he just pointed at himself. Farkas furrowed his eyebrows, squinting in concentration. 

“Oh! You’re Gilmoren. Confused me there. That’s too long of a name anyways. I’m going to call you - uh - how about Gilly? That’s funny, like a fish.” 

Gilmoren opened his mouth to object, his brain still half a step behind, but Farkas and his long legs were already striding down the hallway. 

“G’night, Gilly!” Farkas said over his shoulder. Gilmoren raised his hand to wave, realized Farkas was already through the door to the stairs, and gave up. He turned to the little room. A candle was on the little table closer to what he assumed was Farkas’ bed. It had flickered when Farkas moved around the room, but it was still now. He watched it for a moment, before making up his mind and walking into the room, pulling the door closed behind him. He sat on the bed and pulled his boots off. Breezehome wasn’t going anywhere

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully himbo Farkas makes up for the angst


	3. Chapter 3

The first time Farkas offered him a job, Gilmoren was hesitant to accept it. This was the first time he had ever gone into a battle situation alone. But at the risk of looking like a whelp that couldn’t be taken seriously, he said yes. It didn’t even occur to him until he was outside the walls of Whiterun that he probably could have asked Farkas to go with him. Something to consider for next time.

But that was assuming it was wise for someone to work with Gilmoren, and he wasn't convinced that was the case. 

At least Farkas had given him a map, so he wasn't completely confused when the sign posts were decayed. Reading maps was one thing Gilmoren already had some skill in, so he didn't feel as helpless as he had before. Although, he wasn't sure what a hagraven was, and he hadn't thought to ask. So that was apt to make things difficult. 

When nothing terrible was happening, Gilmoren did enjoy walking through Skyrim. That was what he had come here originally to do: wander around and learn for a bit, until he found somewhere he might like to settle. He kept the field notebook out with plant illustrations so he could identify useful blooms. His parents had taught him a lot about the plants themselves, their names, their spirits, etc. But they didn't talk about how to use them. Bosmer aren't meant to do that. But he did now. Each time he pulled something up by the roots and Y'ffre didn't come down from the sky to punish him, he felt like he was doing something right. 

Finding the opening to the cave was surprisingly tricky. Tall jagged rocks surrounded it, and Gilmoren struggled to climb around them. When he finally reached the cave opening, he paused. He reached for his bow, then lowered his hand. Should he enter with an arrow ready to fly? That would be hard to hold for very long. And what if he needed one of his hands for something? But he was alone, shouldn't he be prepared for a hagraven to attack? Whatever the fuck a hagraven was? He stood there for an embarrassing amount of time, reaching for his bow and putting it back over and over. Finally he settled on readying his bow, but holding it low so he could still maneuver easily. 

Gilmoren entered the cave, slowly. It was damp, and he noted the mushrooms growing along the ground. He could come back for them later. He immediately came to a wooden gate that he couldn't figure out how to open for several minutes. When he finally unlatched it, he tried to open it as carefully as possibly. Regardless, the screech of the hinges sounded thunderous to him. He readied his arrow and started creeping town the hallway. 

The hallway lead directly to a large room: there was no where to hide. His eyes landed on a dark figure up ahead. He cursed himself for not putting his glasses on earlier. Which was riskier, getting his glasses out, or getting closer? 

The choice was made for him when the figure turned, letting out a screech. It was almost an old woman, but not quite. There was something twisted and  _ wrong  _ about her face. She was hunched over nearly in half. But despite her decrepit appearance, she seemed to almost...glide towards him. Still making that hideous screeching noise. Gilmoren was frozen in place, an arrow aimed right at her head, if he could just  _ move _

A sudden, awful pain hit the outside of his arm, right under his elbow. He let go of the arrow in shock, and by a miracle it landed right in the old woman's face. She moaned, and began to bathe herself in gold light. Gilmoren turned to see a man dressed in furs readying a second arrow. Gilmoren was just faster than him, and hit him in the shoulder first. He hit him again, and the man went down. He tried not to dwell on that. Blood was running down his arm, and it was starting to throb badly enough that he couldn't hold the bow straight. By now the hagraven had healed herself and was gliding towards him. Gilmoren desperately shot at her and missed horribly. He dropped his bow and pulled out his sword with his uninjured arm. Once she was within arms reach, he swung out and hit her in the arm. The blow made her stumble - Gilmoren used his injured arm to grab hers, and he thrust the sword into her stomach as hard as he could. The hagraven screamed as she died, blood running thicker than his and plopping in puddles. When he couldn't hold on any longer, the two of them fell in a heap. Disgusted, he kicked the body off of himself. Why the  _ fuck _ had he thought he could do this? The place where his arm had been hit was bleeding profusely now. He focused hard, trying to summon a healing spell, but the attempt made him dizzy. Instead he ripped off his hood and wrapped the fabric around the cut. Then he flopped his pack to the ground and dug around for a healing potion. His hands were shaking so hard that he couldn't pull out the cork. With a cry of frustration he slammed the bottle against the ground, breaking the neck off. He poured potion into his hands to check for glass shards, and then lapped it up like a dog. 

He had never felt so alone before. 

He stayed in that spot for a while. He was fully aware that there could be Forsworn coming to avenge their brethren, but he didn't have the energy to care. Instead he munched on the bread in his pack for a bit. When the world was done spinning, he tried a healing spell again, and had more luck. It took several attempts to close up the cut, but it healed eventually. That exhausted him again. So he sat and he ate and he tried not to think too hard. 

It was well into the night by the time he scrambled to his feet. He stood still for a moment, testing the waters, before slinging his pack up on his back and heading back towards Whiterun. The blood had dried on his hood by now, but he pulled it back on anyway, just in case. He wasn't sure if blood would somehow negate its enchantments. There was probably someone he could ask. He spent the walk back to Jorrvaskar trying very hard not to think. 

When Gilmoren pushed the door open, it was the middle of the night, but Farkas was still sitting at the table. He looked up at Gilmoren, and his tired expression turned to alarm. 

"Gilly, you're hurt!" he said, pushing back his chair and hurrying over to Gilmoren. 

"I'm alright, I healed it back there, I'm just disgusting still." he answered, pushing his hood off his face. Farkas didn't seem to believe him and immediately invaded his personal space, taking Gilmoren's face in his hands and gently turning it from side to side, looking for injuries. When he saw none, he dropped his hands down Gilmoren's shoulders, and found where his bracer had been punctured. 

"You healed this? That's impressive, I don't know anyone who knows any magic"

"Don't be impressed, I don't know much." 

"Maybe you should. You're such a little guy, maybe you'd be better in a fight with it. Did you finish the job?" 

"Yeah. The hagraven's dead."

"That's good work. Skjor or Kodlak can pay you in the morning. You should get cleaned up and get in bed." he said. Gilmoren nodded and let Farkas lead him downstairs to where he could clean up.

  
  


When Gilmoren finally crawled into bed, Farkas was already snoring. It was obnoxious, but comforting. It was better than being alone. He fell asleep with the Forsworn's face on the inside of his eyelids. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends! I hope you're enjoying my sad little elf. I promise, he's going to work through his shit. No beta, so please feel free to lmk if there are any spelling mistakes. Also for context: he's around a level 8 at this point.

The next day, Farkas insisted Gilmoren tell the story of his first job. 

"Gilly, you could have asked for help if you were worried. Ask me any time you need a Shield Brother, alright?" 

"I'm sorry it's silly -" 

"Gilly. Promise me, next job you get, you'll ask me to go with you. There is no shame in needing someone at your side. " Farkas spoke so sincerely that it was just a little embarrassing, but Gilly agreed anyway. 

Gilmoren was able to fulfill his promise that day: Skjor paid him, and then immediately gave him another job. A retrieval mission, seeing a fragment of a weapon called Wuuthrad. It was apparently important to the Companion’s history, but Skjor wasn’t in the mood to chat further. Gilmoren headed to the living quarters and started nosing around the bookshelves. The Companion’s paperwork was in complete disarray: books had loose pieces of paper shoved inside logging jobs, but they were all out of order. Maps were crinkled into the back corners of shelves. After a few minutes of digging he managed to find a book about the Companion’s early history. Not wanting to walk away with someone else’s book, he plopped down and made himself comfortable on the floor right in front of the shelf. 

\--

That evening, most of the Companions were home, which was a rare enough occurrence that it marked a special occasion. They sat outside together well into the night, drinking and laughing. It was an oddly warm night. Gilmoren toed off his boots to rest his feet in the grass, mindful of any stray arrowheads. He wasn't following the conversation very closely, but enjoyed the hum of voices around him. It was nice to be surrounded by people again, but also to be able to come and go nearly as he pleased. 

Farkas leaned over and refilled Gilly 's tankard, spilling a bit when Vilkas made him laugh Gilmoren smiled, not certain what the joke was, but enjoying Farkas's apologies in between guffaws. 

"What about you, Gilly?" Aela grabbed his attention. "Do you have a pretty thing waiting for you back home?" she asked, backed up by a chorus of childish "ooooO"s. He took a sip. 

"No, I was Valenwood's most eligible bachelor." he said, earning a few laughs that heartened him. That was an oversimplification, but a funny one at least. 

"With that face? Not bloody likely" Vilkas cut him off. He snorted, ignoring the way the comment smarted. It's okay, it was just a joke. Vilkas was met with a mix of laughs and boos; Gilmoren missed the glare that Farkas shot at his brother. 

"You're one to talk, with that mug!" Aela laughed, causing an uproar. He enjoyed the edge to her laugh that sounded almost like a snarl. He still wasn't convinced she wouldn't eat him in his sleep. Nevertheless he relaxed, leaning back against the post and enjoying the buzz developing behind his eyes. This wine was good. Too good. He let the conversation around him turn to white noise, and absentmindedly enjoyed the company. It felt...strange. His mind wandered, thinking about sitting in the evening air with Lydia. They chatted, but certainly not this loudly. Lydia liked to listen to the sounds of the woods as they got ready to rest.

The Companions put their lives on the line for other people. Gilmoren looked around, and he wondered what it would be like to see each of them die. He could imagine any of them laying on the ground with blood pooling under their head - 

Another roar of laughter jerked his mind back to the present. He slipped his wine. For a few minutes he considered walking back to Breezhome for the night to get some quiet time, until he remembered there was no food there. That would make the morning very inconvenient.

When he started to feel sleep itching at his eyes, he poured himself one last tankard and stood. "Early start in the morning, goodnight all. Farkas, do what you want, but you'll be miserable if you're hungover tomorrow". He waved acknowledgement to the chorus of "good night"s as he grabbed his boots and headed back inside. Gilly thought he noticed Farkas walking behind him, but he felt foolish turning around to check. When he paused to open the door to their shared room, he realized he was correct. Farkas wasn't exactly breathing down his neck, so Gilly didn't beat himself up for being unsure.  _ Perhaps someone can give me some tricks for listening better _ he pondered. 

"Nice night" Farkas said. Gilly nodded, sitting gingerly on his bed so as to not spill his tankard. He stretched and shrugged off the loose top he had been wearing unlaced on top of his sleep shirt. 

"Which doesn't seem the norm in Skyrim" he commented. He scooted under the covers, grabbing his tankard again to finish it in comfort. He hoped it would help him sleep, but that was really just an excuse to enjoy good wine. 

"Nah, not really" Farkas replied, flopping in his bed and kicking off his boots. "You from somewhere warmer, right?"

"Yeah, how could you tell?"

"First warm night, you're out in bare feet. Don't see many people doin that". Farkas pointed out. Gilmoren blushed lightly. 

"I'm sorry if it was rude" he said, taking a drink. Farkas waved a hand. 

"Nah, you're fine. jus' different is all. It's cute." he mumbled, looking at the floor. Gilmoren blinked. He opened his mouth, couldn't think of anything good, and closed it again. He felt like a fish. Farkas sighed and looked at him, his expression shy. 

"I'm, uh, sorry, was that too forward?" he asked, his gruff tone contrasting with the gentle look on his face. Gilly shook his head fast enough that he felt something creak. 

"No, no, that's. Um. Thank you" was the best he could come up with. Farkas looked at him for a quiet moment, then smiled. 

"Good. And uh. For the record. What Vilkas said was mean. Your face is...nice" 

"Nice? Well I could be worse." he chuckled. 

Farkas smiled, his eyes big, and then he ducked his head down and started to scoot himself under his covers. "Now let's have some quiet, we've got an early morning, remember?" he said, ironically loudly. Gilmoren, still mentally catching up, didn't reply. He sat quietly and drained his tankard, watching Farkas's body relax as he fell asleep. He snored like a fucking dog. It was nice for a few minutes, until Gilmoren's mind started to wander again: anything could happen tomorrow, the smallest mistake and Farkas would be on the ground, blood pooling under his head. The image made him nauseous, but he couldn't shake it free. Different scenarios kept playing out in his head: Farkas bleeding on the ground, Farkas blown away by a badly aimed Shout, Farkas falling under a draugr's blade. It was many hours before he was able to settle enough to sleep. 

\----

The next morning Gilmoren awoke when he heard the first bell. Irritable, he pressed his face into the pillow for a few moments. When he felt himself starting to drift off again he groaned and pushed himself into a sitting position. He was surprised to see Farkas not up yet: so far, his roomie seemed to not sleep much, and was always up early. That's what too much of too good wine will do. Gilmoren rolled out of bed and washed up. Once he was clean and in a fresh under shirt and pants, he walked over to Farkas and gently shook his arm. "Up and at 'em, would you like me to bring some food down?" 

Farkas groaned and nodded without opening his eyes. That was sufficient for Gilmoren, who left him to scavenge some food. Only some of the Companions were up yet, so the communal plates were still piled high. Gil took one place and filled it with fruit and a few sweetrolls. He grabbed a second plate, tried to remember what Farkas normally ate, then just settled on a bit of everything. Farkas was gone when he returned, presumably washing up, so Gil sat the plate on his bed . He ate as he double checked his pack for his essentials, making a mental list of things to pick up before they left Whiterun.

When Farkas returned he was shirtless and damp, his hair pulled back into a ponytail, but the too short strands were already escaping. Gilly swallowed hard and tried not to stare. 

"Thanks" Farkas grumbled, sitting on his bed and beginning to eat. Gilmoren nodded, looking at the other man through his hair. Even tired and disgruntled, Farkas had a sweet face. It was the kind of face that made you relax a bit. 

" - do ya?" Farkas startled him out of his thoughts. 

"S-sorry, I missed that."

"I said you don't eat a lot of meat, do ya?" Farkas repeated. Gilmoren shook his head. 

"It's fine, it's just not my favorite" he said, which wasn't really a lie. It was just a shorter version. 

"Is that another warm weather habit? Like not wearing shoes?" Farkas asked, was he teasing? Gilly couldn't tell. He hoped he was. 

"No, quite the opposite really. I'm the strange one" 

"I don't know much about elves. They're alright, just don't know many." Farkas said, "So I'm sorry if that was...uh...insensitive." he stumbled, looking at his plate. 

"No, not at all. I've just...made a point to branch out a bit, I suppose." Gilly replied. He wasn't in the mood to talk about life with the disciples, but he couldn't bring himself to be cross with Farkas. "It's a long story."

"Vilkas once told me that's what people say when they don't want to tell the story. That's alright." Farkas's bluntness caught Gilly off guard. He took a bite of his apple to buy himself some time. 

"It's...a bit more complicated than that."

"You can just tell me you don't want to talk."

"No, Farkas I … I like talking to you. Just. Not about my family. Not right now at least. I'm sorry, I should have been straightforward with you."

"Yeah, you should have. But that's alright. " Farkas smiled at him, apparently trying to ease the building tension. Gilmoren returned the smile and tried not to feel too guilty. 

He just...he just couldn't. 

\---

They walked in silence for much of the journey, only speaking briefly if one of them needed to walk off the trail for a piss. It made Gilmoren appreciate his childhood a tiny bit more: he was well versed in the art of squatting against a tree to prevent making a mess all over himself.  Farkas was confused, but didn't object when Gilmoren wanted to stop to gather plants. "I've never tried brewing potions, bet you could make us some useful stuff" he noted. 

"I'm not very good yet, but I'm practicing. I can make healing potions pretty easy." 

"Well that's what we need. That's good. Should talk to Arcadia, she gives good lessons I hear." 

When the pair approached the entrance to Dustman's Cairn, anxiety started to brew in Gilmoren's belly. They knew there would be draugrs crawling in here, he felt like he could already smell them. 

"This is going to get dirty. You ready?"

"Not really, but I'm here" 

"Alright, if I take the lead, can you back me up with your bow? Or are you gonna hit me in the ass?" Farkas asked, already pulling out his sword. 

"I'll do my best." Gilly answered, pulling his glasses out and situating them to hold his hood over his nose. . 

\---

Working with Farkas was different than Lydia. He was much bigger, so Gilmoren had to leave a few steps in-between them to see around him. He didn't notice danger quite as quickly as Lydia always could, but he responded to it with more fierce, brute strength. Gilly found it easy to follow him with his bow, shooting around his bulky frame. The difficult part was swallowing his anxiety.  They reached a large, empty looking room with a locked door. 

“Let’s check if there’s a way to open this door, but if we don’t find it in five minutes then I’m busting that thing down.” Farkas said, lowering his sword and starting to work his way along one wall. Gilmoren mirrored him, looking for a lever or pulley or something. Although the visual of Farkas breaking a door down had certain appeal. He rolled his shoulders as he looked, grateful that they didn’t feel too sore yet. 

Gilmoren found a slightly hidden nook in the wall. It was hard to see in the dark, but once he found it he also found a lever sticking out of the wall. The smooth metal of it didn’t really match the stone, it made Gilly wonder who installed them, and in what order. He reached out an arm and pulled. 

The sharp  _ clang  _ of rusted metal on stone made him jump. Heart pounding in his throat, he turned just in time to see a gate crash down, trapping him in the nook. He instinctively threw his arms against the bars, but they were sturdy. The noise alerted Farkas, who ambled over with all the ease of someone not trapped in draugr prison. 

“Nice going. Are you hurt?” he asked, chuckling. Gilmoren glared. 

“I’m fine. Get me out!!”

“Did that lever do it? Try it again.” he suggested. Gilmoren did, and nothing happened. 

“Now what?” he snapped. He focused on Farkas’s face, stubbornly ignoring the feeling of walls pressing around him. 

“I dunno, maybe -” and then Farkas froze. Gilmoren started to speak until he realized: Farkas was trying to listen. If he focused, Gilmoren could just barely hear the sound of footsteps. 

_ Shit _

Gilmoren scrambled to ready his bow, bemoaning how little space was between the gate’s bars. 

“Those voices don’t sound like draugr to me,” Farkas said quietly, “This is bad.”

“Voices? I can’t hear anything, are you a damn bat?” Gilmoren flustered. Farkas was looking at the door and barely seemed to register him. 

“Stay here,” he said, drawing his sword and walking towards the door. Gilmoren could hear them now, loud rough sounding voices and stomping feet. 

“I don’t exactly have a choice,” he said, irritation turning into real panic now. That was a  _ lot _ of footsteps, presumably belonging to a lot of unhappy sounding people. draugr were terrifying already, this was somehow worse. 

“I smell dog!” he heard right before the door burst open. They poured through, flashing steel and teeth. There were too many, far too many, what the fuck were they doing down here? Farkas roared and threw himself at the throng, raising his sword above their heads. Gilmoren did his best to shoot through the bars of the gate, but the obstructed view coupled with his trembling hands made him nearly useless. He could hear Farkas yelling, but couldn’t keep track of him in the mess until he threw someone up against a wall. The armoured man’s head smacked against the stone and he fell, but another was already swinging at Farkas. There was no way he was going to be able to keep up, and then they were going to turn to Gilly and - 

Farkas looked over at him, and for a second it seemed quiet. Farkas seemed to make a decision then and he lifted his chin up to the ceiling. 

What happened next made no sense. When Farkas threw his head back he let out a roar that...changed. It’s pitch lowered as his  _ teeth grew  _ and his face started to grotesquely morph into a blur. Gilmoren’s stomach started to turn as he started to grow. 

The beast that replaced Farkas finished the roar that he had started. He swiped a massive paw out and knocked several of the men down at once, their armor clanking loudly on the ground. The men yelled as they climbed back to their feet, jeering at the beast. 

_ What the fuck?  _

Gilmoren’s bow was hanging loosely at his side, all but forgotten at this point. The beast was plowing down the men with terrifying speed, painting the floor with blood. The noise of the beast’s claws scraping their armor made him tremble. Gilmoren could hardly see individual faces anymore, just blurs of movement. 

When the noise settled, Farkas looked back at him. He looked...normal. It was the same face he had been sleeping three feet away from. The same kind eyes, the same broad shoulders. He didn’t look frightening anymore, he looked...cautious. Gilly realized that he was panting and he held up a finger. 

“Are you hurt?” he asked. 

“No.”

“Good. You just...you just give me a minute.” he said, still wagging his finger for some reason. He let himself flop to the ground. Farkas waited patiently, not moving any closer, just watching. Gilly fought to breathe normally, even though his face was starting to feel a bit fuzzy. He leaned back, trying to give his chest more room to expand. 

“So what was…” Gilly waved one hand in the air, “That? All of that, what the  _ fuck  _ was that?” 

“I’m sorry if I scared you.” Farkas said, slowly. He seemed to be weighing his words carefully, “That was the beast” 

“What - what does that  _ mean _ ?’ he said weakly, still struggling to breathe properly. 

“I - I’m sorry, Kodlak explains it much better, you shouldn’t have found out this way. Some of us have the blessing of beast blood. We can use the beast’s form to help us in battle.”

“You can turn into a beast.” Gilly repeated, squinting at him, “I - I’m sorry - can a lot of people here do that? What the  _ fuck  _ is wrong with this country?”

“There’s plenty worse in Skyrim than us,” He sounded hurt there. Gilly didn’t quite have the energy to care at the moment. 

“Okay. Okay, I have a  _ lot _ of questions, but we don’t have time. Get me out of here before anyone else shows up.” 

___

Gilmoren’s first instinct was to keep some distance between him and the other man, but the further they went into the catacombs the more he gravitated back towards Farkas. For the moment, it didn’t seem like Farkas was going to rip him to pieces. The same could not be said about the draugr that burst their way out of coffins. Gilly could swear he saw  _ eyes _ in those awful glowing sockets, but when the draugr fell there was nothing but blackness. Part of his mind wandered, wondering by what logic necromancy was ruled: if the draugr could rise from the dead once, why couldn’t they rise a second time? 

Farkas didn’t speak. He didn’t look at Gilly, but led the way, pushing danger from their path. He would groan and curse under his breath, but not really speak. Gilmoren was fine with that. He didn’t know what he would say. He just followed instead, shooting around Farkas’ bulky shoulders when he could manage to. As they walked he sometimes stopped to open urns that occasionally help some gold pieces. The dead couldn’t use the gold anyway, so he didn’t feel too badly about it. 

They encountered more of the armed fighters as they travelled through the catacombs. Gilmoren shot at them as Farkas charged, and he tried not to hear the squelching of tearing flesh. He didn’t comb their bodies for gold: they were too warm, and he was too frightened that more would pop out at any minute. No matter how many times they encountered the fighters, more seemed to be waiting for them in the next room. There had to be hundreds of them. It wasn’t safe to rest, but Gilmoren had some bread in his pack that they tore into as they walked. He shook his hands, trying to fight off the soreness developing in his fingers. 

\--

The main room was impossibly quiet. No sharp noise of swords being readied, or the shuffling of undead feet. But there was...music? It was soft, getting lost in the high ceiling, but it was there. It made Gilmoren’s heart ache. 

“What’s that noise?” Farkas was making a face, as though it was painful. 

“It’s - uh - I think I know what it is. I’ll show you when we’re closer.”

They moved slowly down the hallway, certain something was about to jump out, but nothing did. It didn’t feel right. The tension of waiting, with the music calling softly was overwhelming. When they walked up to the altar, they say that the wall behind it was glowing dimly. Gilly sheathed his sword and approached the wall. When he reached out his hands, the music swelled, and the light reached back. It crawled up his arms and settled into his skin. As the music faded, he studied the stone etchings. Like the last time he encountered a Word Wall, the understanding of the word didn’t surface properly. It felt like a distant memory, too fuzzy to properly recall. 

“This is a Shout, it’s, well, dragon language sort of.” he explained as he turned. Farkas looked like a child who had just seen their first magic trick: his eyes were wide, his mouth slightly agape. 

“You can -” he started to say, then stopped, running a hand through his hair, “What did you just do?”

“I uh, absorbed it I guess. That’s sort of how it works. You’re not the only one with a trick up his sleeve.”

Farkas, still looking astonished, turned his attention to the altar. A strangely shaped piece of metal with engravings was laying on top of it. He reached out and took it. 

That’s when all hell broke loose. 

The quiet room was suddenly full of the crashing sound of coffins being kicked open, draugr growling as they tumbled out. Gilmoren froze for a second before he unsheathed his sword. He could have cried. As Farkas fumbled to get the shard of Wuuthrad into his pack, Gilmoren pushed ahead and met the first draugr that got to the altar. It took all his strength to lift his sword and smash it into the things neck, causing it to fall aside. Two took that one’s place, their bones scraping together as they raised their weapons. He could feel their empty eyes on him, glowing with misplaced rage. 

It only took Farkas a moment to catch up to him, raising his massive sword and roaring as he threw himself into the throng. There were at least twenty of them now, and more kept coming from somewhere. 

Above them, he heard a coffin burst open. He looked up, and saw there were steps leading up to a higher level, and a draugr was about to start its way down. He dropped his sword in favor of his bow, and was able to shoot the creature down from a distance. He bolted up the stairs once he did, hoping to take advantage of the higher ground. But as he started picking off the draugr below, one crashed out behind him and struck him hard in the head with its hand. He stumbled, but managed to catch himself against a support beam. When he turned, the awful thing was screaming in his face, spraying death muck. Gilmoren took an arrow in his fist and drove it right into the creature’s eye socket. It screamed, and as he kicked at its feet it tumbled down the stairs. He scrambled over to the wall, pressing his back against it so he couldn’t be taken by surprise again, and scanned the room for Farkas. He could hear him, but his form was nearly lost in the sea of bones. Gilmoren slumped against one of the empty coffins, trying to catch his breath. 

The coffin moved.

He sprang away from it, scared another beast was about to pop out. But when none did, he gave it an experimental shove. It was incredibly heavy, but he was able to move it just enough to see that it was hiding a passageway. Hopefully, a passageway back above ground. 

“Hey! Farkas! Hey!” He started yelling, waving his arms and struggling to be heard over the screams of the dead. He went back to picking them off with his bow, screaming for Farkas the entire time. When he finally spotted the man, he started waving his arms again. 

“Hey! Up here! I think I found a way out!”

Farkas didn’t pause to think: as soon as he heard Gilmoren, he started plowing through bodies, swinging and yelling as he went. Gilly kept trying to pick them off until he was out of arrows, and with his sword laying abandoned below he just hoped Farkas could hurry before one of the creatures caught wise and started up the stairs for him. Luck was on his side though, and as soon as Farkas reached the top of the stairs he grabbed the larger man and dragged him over to the coffin. 

“Here, push, I can’t do it!”

Farkas was able to push the coffin out of the way in one heave. It was hardly out of the way before Gilmoren was pushing him, yelling at him to hurry. They sprinted up and through the passageway. Gilmoren didn’t understand how a person could run with such an awkward sword, but Farkas managed just fine. 

When the passageway did lead them back into the sunlight, Gilmoren ripped the hood away from his face and breathed in deeply. The freh air couldn’t clean the smell of death, but it certainly helped. He caught his breath as Farkas rolled a heavy stone in front of where they had just escaped, just in case. Then he too leaned against the stone and breathed heavily. 

“Good work, Gilly.” he said after a moment. Gilly looked back at him. He still just looked like Farkas. No claws, no pointed teeth. But Gilmoren still felt a pit in his stomach. 

“You too. Let’s go home.” 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> That was all angsty exposition. Sorry.


End file.
